2012 - The List

Thank you, 2012 for...

• new family members Elyse, Liam and Meeker
• the continued good health of those we love
• friends who reach out with help and laughter and trust
• really good moisturizer
• Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred
• airplanes
• long car rides
• wolf sightings
• cheese
• coffee
• MEC's online catalogue
• thick wooly socks
• Husband
• and Starbucks grande decaf half-sweet vanilla soy lattes, no whip, extra nutmeg.

Blending In With Albertans

Talking about the weather.

Alberta is a beautiful land of craggy mountains, rolling foot hills, sweeping plains, peaceful forests, whatever muskeg is, tundra and Fort Mac. Such diversity would seem to naturally create a divide among those brave souls who choose the Western Way Of Life but no so, for all Albertans have one thing in common: the weather. 

Do not approach an Albertan and idly comment about the weather, intending to pass the time. The weather in Alberta is not something to be taken lightly and such frivolous behaviour will likely get you shot or, worse, branded a hippie and shunned from the burn barrel 'round back of the Co-op.

If you want to impress an Albertan try saying something like: "It's not too bad out today, my eyelids barely stuck together at all on the way to the car."

If you want to make  friends with an Albertan try: "My neighbour had mittens on to shovel his driveway last night and it was only -27. He's probably a Communist."

Conversely, in the summer if you are trying to avoid detection as an outsider you could try: "Sure it's 48 degrees in the shade and my rear view mirror just melted off but it's a dry heat."

I've noticed that Albertans are very proud of how dry it is here. How dry the air, fog, snow, cold, heat, rain and sunshine seem to be. I think it's an over reaction to how lovely and cool the sweet, soothing glorious rains of the Pacific Northwest keep the glorious coast of British Columbia so gloriously verdant. Or something. Overusing this adjective can get you into trouble, however, so save it for emergency chatting when you feel the locals may be onto you.

Good luck! Happy chatting and remember, it's a dry hypothermia.

Fly Me To The Moon

Husband can snowshoe uphill backwards, sing harmony, set a broken bone and he does this thing with his thumb in the small of my back that makes me purr like a kitten...

Where was I?

Right. And he can fly a plane. Or he would fly a plane, if he had a plane to fly. Turns out that after much careful deliberation and serious research and a drive all the way down to the other side of Calgary and back, he now, in fact, has a plane to  fly.  So help me.

Normally I would be pounding out the story in great detail, outlining the hours spent wringing hands over the decision, the coordination of the sale, the fork lift, the hacksaw, the box-spring mattress, the 78 year old British expat who's accent simply makes the story sparkle... but I'm too busy hyperventilating into a paper bag.

Husband bought a plane. With wings and an engine. And two seats. To fly. I love this man so much I can barely breathe, literally, but I have watched him Hulk out on a keyboard because "the volume control is sticky." I don't know if now is the time for the "unconditional support" speech or the "I'm only getting in that thing if you swear off sugar" speech. Probably a little of both.

Husband is capable, clever and cunning. He can fix, build or finagle anything and that apparently includes a two-seater Zodiac 601 HD in bright blue. He's so damn happy to have a project to work on that I can't help but be excited right along with him, even if it means I eventually have to take a ride in the thing I have secretly named "Smurfette".  Husband's enthusiasm builds a fire in my soul that fills my days with so much warmth and light that my joy is visible from space. 

And with all the extra gas tanks he has planned for Smurfette,
our inevitable flaming descent onto the prairies north of Winnipeg will be as well.

Shoulda Bought A Kodak

Dear Canon Camera "Fix-it People",

I am glad you are able to fix my camera, my favourite thing in the world after my cat and the smell of warm raspberries. It is broken because you designed a flaw into it, so I am super glad you agree that you will be fixing it for free. 

Thanks for letting me know it will take extra long to repair because it's Christmas and you've obviously screwed up a lot of cameras. And Christmases.

Balls,
Remote

Lesson Learned

While the white tailed deer is a majestic and delicious mammal
Who cares for it's young for up to two years,
Teaching it all the important deer tricks
Like hiding and where to find the best grass,
Maybe the ones in Alberta could spend a few minutes on some key survival tips.
Lessons like "Don't cross the road at full speed after sundown" or "Mr. Minivan is not your friend."
Then maybe Husband and I wouldn't need a new sliding door
On the driver's side.
Bastards.

Sweet Thundering Crap On A Cracker, We Bought A House

Two weeks ago, on a still Friday morning, Husband woke me from my slumber by brushing my hair behind my ear and softly whispering, "There's a house going on the market and if we act quickly could be ours."

Well.

So much for needing coffee.

42 hours later we were signing the final papers and now we await our closing date of January 28.  I am planning paint colours and renovating the kitchen as Husband waxes enthusiastic about garage space and fenced yards. 

Neither one of us knows what is in the mystery room in the sub-basement, the one with the tiny door too small for a grown human, but the home inspector assured us the giggling was 'perfectly normal'.

Blending In With Albertans

Dressing The Part

This is not as easy as it would seem. Albertans in these parts seem to be divided into two distinct categories.

Category One - Ranch Hand

This is the quintessential Albertan look, heavy on the plaids, denim, cowboy hats and workboots. It functions well on all occasions, is usually neat and presentable and works for both men and women.  Suitable substitutes for the ubiquitous white Stetson are limited to ball caps depicting Edmonton Oilers logos or a plain wool toque worn only if the weather dips below -60. There is no substitute for plaid.

Category Two - Oil Money

Imagine if Jersey Shore were filmed in Alberta. This season, bling is being worn on the outside of the Helly Hansen parka (unzipped). Name brand sneakers only. Women may not wear pants but may wear leggings and micro skirts with the ever-practical 4 inch pump for that winter trek to the bus stop.  Blacks and retina burning brights round out the douchery. 

What about me? Well, I fall into my very own category.

Category Three - Noob

Heavy duty 800+ Canada Goose Expedition Jacket, brightly knit wool toque from Nepal (naturally) with matching alpaca-fleeced mittens (obviously), a fleece dickie for face and neck warmth, ski goggles, Gortex snow pants and Sorel 'Snowlion' boots rated to -65. 

Or this.

 All worn over the entire MEC catalogue of thermal underwear. And that's just to go get the mail. Husband assures me that with time I will progress to the much desired Ranch Hand look, complete with sassy denims and a tight plaid blouse tied at the midriff.  He trailed off for a minute and stared at nothing for a while at this point. 

He's encouraging me to avoid the Oil Money look altogether on the grounds that "it's not likely we will ever meet Kanye."

Letters To A Shut In

Dear Neighbour Lady,

I know that you have moved to a new PMQ/RHU/SHED. I know because the U-Haul into which you loaded all of your worldly possessions, including a collection of 3 barbeques and what I hope was a cardboard cutout of Han Solo because it sure looked like one and that would be totally awesome, drove around the street and was unloaded into a marginally less small house. 

Interesting. This means that in order to walk your dog at the park you will have to pass right by my front door, every day, snow or shine. 

...

Are you just messing with me now? Because that seems like a pretty elaborate ploy to get my attention when all you a really had to do was put some pants on and answer your door.

Yours at a slightly further removed distance and now on the left,
Remote

Friday Bear

Although they tried real hard

and covered a wide range of topics,

mostly feelings, 

which I tend to avoid,

there is no Friday Bear.

Which is why the Care Bears 

are stupid.

Fun Fact: I searched for 'party bear' first. There is quite a surprising 
result when you search 'party bear.'  Quite surprising. Really.

Blending in With Albertans

 Speaking the Lingo: A Helpful Glossary

Leggings: Snow pants
Winter: September-May
Light snow: 5-10 cm
Moderate snow: 15-20 cm
Blizzard: January


Useful phrases

You're not from around here, are ya? 
lit.: "That'll be 15% extra cost."

You the one in the Volvo?
lit.: "Did I say 15%? I meant 40%."

We won't have these parts in until Larry goes to the city next week.
lit.: "I think you're a Communist."

Sure, we have a loaner you can take to work.
lit.: "Let's see how you handle a 2WD Carolla in the snow, you swish city bastard."

You're Doing It Right

On Friday, at work...

Me: So remember, you have to hold your [block of wood we are pretending is a guitar] down low, by your hips. Good. Then raise your left hand up high and bring it down in a power strum. That's right! And now, what do you say?

4 year old: FOR DOZE ABOUT TO WOCK, WE SAWUTE YOU!

CD player: Twinkle, twinkle, little star...

For M.C. who sometimes wonders why I do what I do and 

who needs to hear stories about good days.

Head Hunters

From a recent thread of emails to friends, I give you a demonstration as to why this blog sometimes writes itself.

About a Week Ago...
So the phone rings this morning and I picks it up and I says Hello, with a mouth full of my morning citrus fruit of choice.  Read on.

Voice: Hello, Tammy, this is [Name of Person I Do Not Know].

Me: (thinking, holy crap, some Telmate guy has found a loophole) How can I help you?

Voice: You sent a resume in to [Name of Center I Vaguely Recall] about two months ago and we are now beginning interviews.

Me: Ah, thank you for the interest however I am now employed with someone far less sinister sounding.

Voice: I can appreciate that, but before you go would you mind me asking what you make?

Me: Yes.

Voice: ...uh, okay well I'm prepared to offer you [Amount of Money That Would Make Traveling To Mexico an Annual Event], should yours be the interview that receives top marks. Just glancing over your resume, I can tell you that I am prepared to create a full time position, just for you, if you are the candidate we select.

This would have been more effective. And somehow less creepy.

Me: (looking for the hidden camera) Sorry, you are offering me a job that doesn't exist, based on an interview I have not agreed to, for a salary that sounds like a GPS location in another solar system. Is that correct?

Voice: Yes.

Me: ... I'll see you Thursday.

It's not as though I go out of my way to have these sorts of experiences, but this does seem to indicate that Hemingway sure did it the hard way.

One week later...

So. 

In an effort to prepare for my interview with Voice, I have selected a sharp black blazer (she's very polished and professional) over a graphic tee (though very fun and relaxed underneath) with dark-wash denim (but not interested in a career with you) and flats (because you don't give weekends, summers and Christmases off). I have also always wanted to try just absolutely blowing an interview, on purpose, by saying wildly outrageous things, putting stuff on the desk in my mouth and asking if I can 'keep the pen.' That is absolutely not going to happen this time. Probably. But I am looking forward to what a 'pitch interview' looks like. This is a first for me. I'm excited. However, unless the job comes with a life-sized Jason Statham Doll ('Now with life-like stubble!') I am not interested. 

Later that same afternoon...

Well. That was... interesting.

Voice: We're going to interview you now and then pretend to mull it over afterwards but essentially we really want you to come and work for us. 

Me: Sounds fun, let's go for it.

Voice: So, first question: seriously, come work for us.

Me: No.

Voice #2, blonde: Really. You should come work for us. Do you want to see my pay stub?

Me: No, thank you.

Voice #3, grandmotherly and Scottish and oh-so-tempting to say yes to for those reasons alone, which is probably why they brought her, the clever imps: Please.

Me: Gosh, it's all very flattering but... no.

Voice: Okay, we'll give you a chance to think it over and call you when we have the job description drafted.

Me: Thank you for your time.

Voice: Do you want tickets for the staff Christmas party now or...?

It was interesting. They honestly and sincerely asked me all of their standard interview questions, two of which I deliberately misinterpreted and still got congratulated for giving a 'really great answer, just really great'.

I found this whole process very gratifying in a 'I really have some mad skills' sort of way. The interview was very straightforward, the questions the sort you would expect and I enjoyed answering with anecdotes from my personal experience, as much for my own entertainment as theirs because I have worked in some fairly outrageous situations and I am just a delight when it come to personal anecdotes.  It was the most relaxing interview experience I have ever had and I highly recommend you all interview for jobs you absolutely don't need, it's fabulous for the ego. But I'm not changing jobs. Not even for better pay. 

What I get from the job I am in now is not money or the things it can buy. It is joy and laughter and tears and glue sticks; silly songs about the letter Q, spontaneous dancing and weekends and summers off to spend with Husband and distant friends and family. 

And let's face it, it's indoor work with no heavy lifting.  And glitter. So, so much glitter.

Conversations With Alberta

Jesse: Cold out now.
Alberta: It's only October, quit whining.

Jesse: I'm from an island where the snow falls on the mountain tops and the valleys stay green.
Alberta: Welcome to the real world. Wear booties.

Jesse: You're saying all of Canada is like this?
Alberta: Look on the bright side, at least there aren't tsunamis.

Jesse: I've never seen a tsunami. I've been cold for weeks.
Alberta: (laughing) I told you, it's only October.

Jesse: How much colder does it get?
Alberta: Ever slurped up an ice cube?

Jesse: Yes...
Alberta: Like that only more worse.

Jesse: I think I'll stay inside until it's all over.
Alberta: See you in June.

Still Not A Morning Person

If it takes longer for the sunrise to start, does that mean there's more morning or less?

I am not certain if that question is philosophical, scientific or stupid. Possibly all three. At any rate, my eyes are trained to slam open at 6 AM on the nose. Husband, who's name means "Death Wish" in his mother's native Nova Scotian, is up at least a half hour ahead of that and every other decent human being.  The only reason we are still blissfully happy together is that I have learned to sleep with earplugs in and Husband has become adept in the Ninja art of Not Waking The Wife. 

Usually, when I am finally able to wrench myself from the loving arms of my Morpheus Posturepedic, I am willing to do so because of a. coffee and b. the sweet, rosy fingers of dawn's early light.

Not in Alberta. In Alberta, 6 AM means it's still nearly two hours until sunrise.  And so the question remains, is this extra night or extra morning?

Extra night means that I am being robbed of at least two hours of Jenga Shots, movies, Spoons and sleep. Extra morning means that I am homicidal.

This blog entry is dedicated to the nearest Starbucks,180 km away. You bastards.

Always Yes

My dear friends, the ones who will likely know me years from now, the ones who are totally unsurprised by my insistence that Hallowe'en should be a STAT holiday, my absolute devotion to wearing toques after Labour Day and my horrified, purely sociological fascination with the psychology behind the anime fantasy genre and how it simply would never have arisen in our agrarian-based North American culture because we just don't find fish sexy...

Anyone? Anyone at all?

Those are the ones who said yes.

Yes is a very powerful word. It is permission and much more than that, it is acceptance. 

Yes is...

... agreeing to stop the car so that the load of people I am designatedly driving home can play in a senior's fitness park at 2 AM, then joining in and cartwheeling insanely across the ball fields. 
... watching boring TLN programming/medical/relationship dramas and/or paying to see Sex and The City in the theatre and not commenting out loud about the lack of zombies or explosions. Or plot.
... epically awesome Hallowe'en parties and equally epically boring New Years ones.
... joining a charity to spend time with a busy friend.
... planning a theme for nearly every get-together, just to have a reason to wear heels and a boa.
... hours and hours of Spoons around my kitchen table.
... surfing on a day that is too rough and rainy to surf and seeing whales as reward for that foolishness.
... understanding that dogs are family.
... patiently sitting next to people watching Twilight as a drinking game in the back of a theatre and totally not punching them or anything. 
...  rescuing me from a prom date disaster by faking a foot injury and going to Tim Horton's instead. 
... agreeing that St Patrick's Day is a far better day on which to celebrate my birthday.
... a cartoon-marathon/cereal/pajama party for no reason. 
... breakfast for supper.
... climbing aboard a friend's tiny little ocean-bound speed boat to go buy oysters we could just as easily get at the market, despite my fear of sharks, drowning, and sharks that would drown me. Twice.
... a six hour, not a two hour, hike.

Yes is important. When you say yes to opportunities, you can expect to wind up somewhere unexpected, in my case often covered in glitter and wondering where all the feathers came from. More importantly, when you say yes to people, you find friends you never hoped to have and would not trade for all the handmade wool toques in Nepal.  

Sadly, I have occasionally missed it when someone was saying yes in the only way they knew how, and some of the people to whom I have said yes have replied no and I don't hold it against them.  Some have joyously, wonderfully, said yes to me in return and we are the better for it, despite decades or distance.

I said yes to a random group of people chance tossed together a few nights ago and now we aren't strangers anymore.  The surprising fact that the common denominator turned out to be 'Jesus Christ, Vampire Slayer' is just one of those coincidences which the Universe holds in store for those who say and hear yes. Isn't that wonderful?   

For friends who reminded me that before we had to put our house on the market and be all grown up and stuff, I used to say yes more often. Thank you for the reminder. And for Neighbour Lady, who I hope will say yes someday. If not to me than to someone else, someone she trusts not to judge her penchant for Sponge Bob pajama pants or her curious twisty-bun ponytail look that makes her ears stick out.

How to Obtain and Use a Cold Lake Community Card or 'Rec Pass'

In 12 Easy Steps 

Step 1 

Go to the gym and ask the PSP front counter staff on duty for a Community Card registration form, as directed by the helpful MFRC Welcome Coordinator. Expect that this will be the only step.

Step 2

Get told that the registration needs the military member's name, rank, serial number, date of birth, shoe size, ice cream flavour preference and digital difference of left hand. Be assured that this is the only step.

Step 3

Chase down Husband who is on one of forty 'away' missions that are 100% necessary a mere 3 weeks into the posting.  Get required information. Share bemused looks via Facetime.

Step 4

Return with the required information filled out on the form. Get told that the member's Confusing and Useless Acronym Card must also be presented, although the member himself is not required. Be informed that this, certainly, will be the only step.

Step 5

Wait for Husband to get home.

Step 6

Wait some more.

Step 7

Request Confusing and Useless Acronym Card from returned Husband, who insists I perform a blood oath not to lose it. Like, ever. Seriously. 

Step 8

Guard Confusing and Useless Acronym Card with life from bears and terrorists and such. 

Step 9

Return with required information filled out on form and the Confusing and Useless Acronym Card. Present both to the PSP front counter staff. Get told the member himself must be present in order for the information to be validated. Receive assurance that this, finally, is the only step.

Step 10

Sweetly point out that at each step the helpful PSP front counter staff, various, had assured me that there was only one step. Focus discussion on the cheerful nature of the staff in question, on the busyness of the their days, on the understanding of the pressures of a front desk job.  Appeal to the PSP front counter staff's alleged humanity.  Point out that the member is not really required because, look, I have all the 'just one step' steps ticked off, right here. Finish with an encouraging smile.

Step 11

Receive Community Card.  Make dinner plans. Part as friends.

Step 12

Attend gym the next day.  Walk right in, do not get asked to present card. Wander the building a bit, use a treadmill, check out the staff lounge, rearrange office furniture in lobby, admire the pool and leave without being questioned at all, by anyone, in any way.

Fritti is not amused

They call the new thing Meeker. What a ridiculous name. It arrived last Thursday and immediately slopped water all over the kitchen floor, which the Two-Leggers completely failed to clean up so I had to walk through it. And it licked my food bowl, which has officially moved the threat level to DEFCON 1.

I have watched it closely for over a week and it seems to be similar to the Jesse-Thing, evidenced by it's obsession with sniffing my bottom. I just hope it's not allowed on my Sectional.

...

It's on my Sectional!  

This... is war.

Secrets. Secrets and a stylish living room.

This weekend, because I love him, because it's funny to confuse the cat, because we were pretty bored but mostly because it's good to flex the marriage muscles every few weeks, Husband and I ... moved The Sectional. Four times.

That is not a euphemism for anything fun, in any way, whatsoever.

You see, we've decided to stay in this PMQ. The real estate market being what it is (crazy) and we being what we are (lazy), it just seems to make sense. But how to arrange it?

Side bar: Why are they called PMQs? It's not even a proper acronym... Pimmmmmku. It sounds like someone trying to whistle with a mouth full of caramel. Also, I heard recently they were re-designated RHUs or ''Rrrhuhs", which sound is similar to the one I make when I pull on my Spanx.  Neither noise is one that springs to mind when I gaze upon our little house on the prairie, our cozy home for two, our Small Homey Economical Dwelling.

Anyway, we have decided to stay and are now trying to decide how to live in it.  This is no big challenge. Ha. After all, Husband and I lived quite sparsely in our great rambling home in Comox, with 4 empty rooms and a whole drawer in the kitchen dedicated to my collection of three (3) linen tea towels from England. Shove all of that into what the Canadian Forces has decided to call a house and suddenly we have the perfect amount of beds, sofas, even tea towels, to fill it.  As long as it is carefully arranged. And nothing dents the ceiling, potentially releasing a cloud of 60 year old asbestos into our lungs. 

We did well. With minimal swearing and only one potential broken foot later, the place actually looks pretty good.  The Sectional had to be moved in order to make room for the dining room table. The dining room table had to be moved to make way for the sitting room. The sitting room is where the last of Husband's bachelor furniture has gone to die. He doesn't know this, bless him. He thinks it's great fun to have two living rooms, one up and one down. I think it's great fun to have furniture that does not appear to move on it's own. 

We'll just keep this our little secret, shall we? If he catches on that broken foot will have been in vain and if we move The Sectional again, we won't be able to hide the hole in the wall. 

Apple TV is neither an apple nor a TV. Discuss.

I miss the olden days when you plonked a pair of rabbit ears on the ol' tube, The Enemy stood on the roof wrapped in tinfoil and I got to watch The Wonderful World of Disney every Sunday night. Not anymore. There's a new-fangled set up in the Hood House. It's all wireless and high tech and works about as well as can be expected for a product designed to be more sexy than functional. Goodness, yes.  Sexy functionality in the Hood House looks like Husband, on his hands and knees swearing at a sleek little cube, begging for a signal and me, heading to the local library.

Welcome Heartbeat

Welcome, Heartbeat. 

Welcome home.

Decisions, Decisions

I was told once by someone that I had a choice, I could believe in God or I could believe in gorillas. This rather unusual ultimatum was prompted by the news that a small group of mountain gorillas was discovered using tools to assist in crossing a swamp and to dig for food. (Click here to burn in Hell)

Urban Gorilla

My initial response to this demand for a declaration of faith in one thing or another was to laugh whimsically, change the channel from news to The Simpsons and pour that person another cup of tea stirred with the Devil's tool (crispy bacon).  But it's always been one of the moments to which I wish I had responded differently. I think we all have these moments, these lost opportunities to communicate our thoughts and feelings clearly and without stuttering. Had I, in that moment, the time to consult a thesaurus and the gumption to confront this person who delights in creating uncomfortable situations, I like to think I might have responded thusly:

Gorillas are real, you insular little man and there is no reason to declare faith in that which is real. I do not need to believe that gorillas exist, nor do I expect, should I choose foolishly to do so, that they would care one iota whether I whisper wishes to them throughout my day, insist that they can work magics great and terrible, or wage war in their name. Please do continue to enjoy my hospitality, despite the offense my lifestyle causes to your parochial view of Humanity and the world.  More tea?

These are things that I sit and think, as I gaze out my window, binoculars and stop-watch close to hand; waiting for the next opportunity to 'casually' meet up with Neighbour Lady. 

I wonder if she watches the news? 

Letters To a Shut-In Deux

Dear Neighbour Lady,

Okay, I saw what you did there and I applaud your latest efforts to meet me.  The wee, small hours of the morning are the best time to walk dogs. However, it would have been more effective if you and your fabulous shepherd puppy had not dashed back into the house the moment Jesse and I stepped outside. But up to that point, your plan to draw me out worked flawlessly.

For next time, I'm considering leaving a trail of something for you to follow, ET-style, into my yard. Would those tiny Bailey's bottles do it for you? They worked a treat on me when Husband did it.

Yours at a distance,
Remote

On Frigid Pond

The trucks are loud and large and fast,

The lake is certainly cold.

The sun shines five days of the week,

But not for long, I'm told.

There is plenty of view, though not much in it

The horizon is certainly far.

You can see Tuesday from a long way off

And there isn't a decent bar.

The folks are friendly, except when they're not.

For the most part though, it's nice.

I'm told I'm seeing the town at it's best,

i.e. not coated in ice.

I don't miss the rain, and the ground is solid

And stable beneath my feet.

I do miss my friends but I'll make some here

(Though Neighbour Lady and I've yet to meet.)

There are nights when the sky is on fire with colour

And days when the wind sounds like waves.

There are Saskatoon berries growing wild by the road

And a fun local drunk name of Dave.

I think I'll enjoy my time on the prairie,

I can certainly see the appeal.

Unless I can't find a good sushi place soon,

Then I'm afraid there's no deal.

Skype me one more time. Please. It's been a quiet few weeks.

Dear #skype4sex666,

Thank you for your unsolicited invitation to 'skype all the sexy' today, which I received while online with my mother.  I was pleased to learn that you have 'honest feelings of love for womens and ladies who are strong with virtue' since not everyone is so certain what they are truly looking for. It was rather interesting to read that you are 'genuinely interested in a long-time sexy relations with a quality woman and not in just chatting with the random for naughty which is fun but not wholesome.' I feel exactly the same way about lemon-filled donuts.  
My mother and I were both surprised to discover that you had 'never done the online internets for sexiness' before, since you write so sincerely and with such ease.  Unfortunately I am not interested, though greatly complimented, by your offer to 'share videos and chatting that may lead to more realness.'

Regretfully,
notevenifURthe.lastman 

Can't you read the sign?

I'm settling in. Getting a feel for the local lingo. Avoiding the buffalo wings because there is an unusual amount of oil money splashing around and combine that with the very literal sense of local humour, I wouldn't put it past the R&D department at Esso to completely screw with me.

I am enjoying being screwed with in other ways, though.  Yesterday I found a local thrift store, it was easy to spot due to the giant sandwich board out on the sidewalk with an arrow declaring "THRIFT STORE!" on it. The big, welcoming and, above all, open door was another clue.  I love me some thrift store so I wandered in and was promptly told to git. 

"....?"
"We're closed."
"....?"
"Didn't you see the sign?"
"I thought I had but now I'm not so sure."
"We're closed. Read the sign."
Re-reading the giant red plastic arrow the size of the Volvo windshield, "Sooooo... you're not... a thrift store?"
"Not that sign. The other sign."
"...?"
"The other sign," sighing and pointing to a small handwritten note on the inside of the wide open door. The sign reads "Sorry. We're Closed."
"Ah, that sign. I am sorry I missed it, your arrow confused me a little."
"Well, we're closed," conveying by way of another deeply put-upon sigh that there was some considerable doubt as to the fact that it was simply the arrow which was the source of my confusion and that I was clearly insane and it was only through a certain amount of charitable prairie goodwill that I was not being lead away in handcuffs for what was rapidly turning out to be a suspected B&E by a crazy person. It really was rather eloquent.
"I think I understand. I'll just be going. Would you like me to pull this big, wide open door shut behind me?"
"No, the owner thinks it's more friendly if we keep it open."

I think I'm going to like it here.

Letters to A Shut-In

Dear Neighbour Lady,

We've been coyly dancing around this issue for a while now. I'm going to be the one brave enough to say it. 

(deep breath, I can do this)

If we're going to be best friends for life, or at least until I move away, you're going to have to leave your house some time so that I can accidentally run into you while on my way to awesome plans you could totally join me for, which won't feel contrived or weird in any fashion.

If I have knock on your door in order to meet you, it's just going to make us both feel awkward about how you are still wearing your pajamas at 2:45 in the afternoon. 

Kisses!
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